


House, are we gay?

by Fatale (femme)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-18
Updated: 2006-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	House, are we gay?

lalalalala. Big, fluffy humour fic.

House, are we gay?  
House/Wilson, PG

 

"House, are we gay?"

House nearly fell out of his chair with surprise, which was a novel, if annoying, experience. Usually Wilson's divorces weren't enough to spur a complete sexual identity crisis, none that House had known of anyway. House felt a brief bout of paranoia, maybe he was losing his touch.

House's mind was like a great eraser board in the sky: he listed the symptoms and eventually they all fit together into a neat diagnosis at the bottom line. All cases were connected in their own meandering way and he _always_ made the connection.

Wilson looked at house expectantly and House frowned. "That's not what the prostitutes say."

"I don't think they count since you pay them."

House shrugged and Wilson seemed satisfied, which was fishy in of itself. House knew there was a puzzle here and that was usually good news, but this time, he had the uncomfortable feeling he was a part of it.

 

***

 

House reviewed what he knew about Wilson's recent divorce and even more recent break-up. He'd cheated on Cheryl the nurse with Sherry in accounting; Cheryl had found out and broken up with him and Sherry had just pain dumped his sorry ass because he was spending too much time with Cheryl.

In the seismic measure of events, this was nothing big. In fact, it wasn't even anything that would send Wilson scuttling for cover, let alone switching teams completely.

What was different?

The door swung open and Chase walked in, looking surly. “Here’s your sandwich.”

“What took you so long?” House snapped, knowing full well he sent Chase down to the cafeteria during the lunch rush.

Chase shot him an annoyed look, which House thought was a vast improvement over his usual kicked-puppy expressions, not that he’d say so unless something was in it for him.

“Where’s my drink?”

Chase’s eyes widened comically. “You didn’t say you wanted anything to drink.”

“How can I eat without anything to drink? What if I choke?”

The expression on Chase’s face said that clearly, he wanted nothing more, but he sighed anyway and left, headed in the direction of the cafeteria.

House grinned at his retreating figure. One day, his little ducklings would learn to bite back. But for now, he had his hands full.

 

***

 

House could have kicked himself if he had two proper legs, which was hard enough then. Instead, he settled for banging his head against his desk.

He had missed an important element, though he couldn‘t imagine why. Maybe, he thought morosely, he was getting old. He would have to reign himself to being the lecherous old cripple in the corner who peeked at young women’s fun places while he pretended to sleep.

Maybe, given the nature of Wilson’s problem with their relationship, he’d end up staring at young men’s fun places, too.

Wilson hadn't asked if _he_ was gay, he'd asked if _they_ were gay. The problem was never his sexuality, it was the weird flirtatious/asexuality of their relationship. That’s why House couldn’t see the big picture - he was 50% of the problem.

Since Wilson was as introspective as belly button lint, House imagined Wilson must have gotten wind of the suspicious nature of their relationship via office gossip and been angsting his pretty little head over it ever since. Or hospital gossip.

Whatever.

 

 

***

 

Being a gossip, House realized, was much, much easier if you had friends. Or even people that substantially liked you.

He usually got his gossip from Wilson and since this particular titbit was _about_ Wilson, House felt Wilson couldn't be an impartial judge on the matter. Unfortunately, his reputation extended to his ducklings and they'd probably fare no better than him, even if he were likely to tell them the nature of the gossip, which he wasn't. Better to drop hints and let them figure it out for themselves (or better yet, for him).

A light case load was no reason to get sloppy.

 

***

"Nina," House said, glancing at the nametag to make sure he got it right. "What lovely eyes you have."

Nina rolled said lovely eyes. "What do you want, Dr. House?"

"A raise, a new car? Better TV reception in the hospital?"

"Anything you want that I can do for you," she clarified. "And please stop staring at my breasts."

House debated denying it, then glanced at Nina's collar and realized it didn't matter.

"I need some information about Dr. Wilson."

As soon as he said Wilson's name, Nina's - admittedly already suspicious expression - shuttered, which House had expected, given the fact that every nurse in the hospital thought Wilson was the best thing since sliced bread. Until they slept with him, anyway.

Nina was pretty and had a _great_ rack, but she didn’t hate Wilson, she was married, and she had pretty light pink lips with minimal makeup.

"Did you have a good morning?" House asked.

"What's that have to do with Dr. Wilson?"

"Nothing, but I imagine," House said, looking significantly at the collar of her scrubs, where a small smear was visible, "that whoever wears that fetching shade of dark red lipstick certainly enjoyed it."

Nina's already fair skin paled. "What are you talking about?"

"The lipstick stain on your collar. Well, not really on your collar, but close enough." He shrugged. “I thought it sounded more dramatic that way.”

"That's mine," Nina lied and House almost chucked. Sometimes, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Or hitting prostitutes with apples...he had to stop now, he decided.

"Right.”

"What do you want to know?" Nina said, her blue eyes wide and scared.

It wasn‘t so much pity as boredom that made him stop toying with her and get to the point. "Wilson - what are people saying about him."

Nina raised an eyebrow. "Nothing I thought you wouldn't know."

Well.

 

***

“They think we’re gay,” House announced, bursting through Wilson’s office door.

Wilson looked up from a pile of papers on his desk. “Don’t you ever -” he stopped himself. “Oh, never mind.”

“What, I have a gay epiphany and you want me to knock?” House barged in and sat down across from Wilson, making sure to prop his feet up on the desk, right on top of the papers.

“It would be nice, yes.”

“Gay epiphanies can’t wait for small things like respect for personal space and privacy.”

“House, I’m busy. Did you want to talk or just annoy me?”

“Can’t I do both?”

Wilson was getting to the stage that House knew meant he had better get to the point or get out, not that it ever stopped him.

“Okay, okay. So I was talking to lovely Nina-”

“Who?”

“Nurse in oncology. Been working with you for years.” He looked closely at Wilson. “You really don’t give a damn, do you?”

“I’m busy,” Wilson repeated, looking tired and defeated and not like Wilson at all.

“Yeah, so am I,” House retorted and ignored Wilson’s scoff of derision - god, he hated that sound - in favor of continuing, because if they brushed this off now, they’d never get back to it and everything would go back to the way it was before. Which was pretty awesome, but not enough anymore.

“Lovely Nina told me that the whole hospital thinks we’re together.”

“Right, and this is what prompted your gay epiphany.”

“Something like that.”

Wilson hesitated and then sighed. “You know, the other night, I was just thinking out loud. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right, queer boy.”

“ _House_.”

“You don’t think that maybe they’re on to something?”

Wilson had been twirling a pencil with his fingers and it suddenly halted. “What are you trying to say?”

“Did I stutter?” He glanced up at Wilson. “Oh, fine. Want to go back to my place and make sweet, sweet love?”

“Are you serious?”

“It works on all the chicks.”

“That you pay,” Wilson said flatly.

House inclined his head, acknowledging the barb. “Well, I wouldn’t have to pay you, at least.”

Wilson rolled his eyes upward, as if looking for strength. “I don’t know how I can turn such a flattering offer down.”

House reached forward and brushed his hand over Wilson’s. “Then don’t,” he said as seriously as he could, all barbs swept aside. This wasn’t the time.

“For such a brilliant diagnostician,” Wilson said slowly, looking down at House’s hand on his, “you’re lousy at reading people.”

“Just you.”

“Right,” Wilson said and turned his hand over, capturing House’s hand in his. “Took you long enough.”

“I move slow these days, you know, bum leg,” House said as piteously as he could, which he figured was good for a blowjob or two. “But I got here eventually.”

 

 

 

 

END.

 


End file.
